


Riding Lessons

by Toshi_Nama



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Co-Parenting, F/M, Gen, Horseback Riding, Lessons, all grown up, catching feelings, parenting, time lapse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26217451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toshi_Nama/pseuds/Toshi_Nama
Summary: It's hard to see a son you knew you created, but then had no contact with for years, surely. But when he's a good kid with a mother you really didn't like, then what?...does it get weird when it turns out you kind of like each other now, or at least respect each other, or is that a good thing?Thanks to Laur and Wintertree for beta assistance!
Relationships: Alistair & Kieran (Dragon Age), Alistair/Morrigan/Warden (Dragon Age), Kieran & Morrigan (Dragon Age)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 19
Collections: Black Emporium 2020





	Riding Lessons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dabbingslytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dabbingslytherin/gifts), [Prix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prix/gifts), [ziskandra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziskandra/gifts).



“You know, you’re not so bad now.”

Morrigan turned and raised an eyebrow, enjoying that such a simple thing could still make the man redden even after a decade of experiences. “That is quite the compliment.”

“I mean - well - you know what I was trying to say!” He took a deep breath, and she wondered for a moment if he found the wild courtyard of Skyhold as appealing as she. “I was talking with Kieran,” he continued in a lower voice. “You’d said I could. He told me about the frog.”

“Ah, and you were disappointed?” She stayed with the familiar banter, even if mention of her son took the edge out of her voice. He’d been so sad that she wouldn’t turn into one for him, or teach him how to. The frog they’d adopted had turned into one of the largest bulls in the Halamshiral garden, and he’d called goodbye when they’d come to this place.

“A little.” Alistair grinned.

Now it was her turn to take a breath and focus on the crisp scent of leaves nearly ready to fall and become fertile soil for the spring’s flowers. She should not be reacting so. In her time, she had seen many attractive men, and while the Warden in front of her was that, he was also...well, _Alistair._ During the Blight, there was no one who was more frustrating or intentionally blundering than he. Even the moralizing Wynne had at least some level of competence.

It was only the shock of seeing him easy in his armor, and the new lines carved into his face from stress and hard decisions. It was only the years having his pretty dreams of griffon-riding nobility punctured, she told herself. It had nothing to do with his infuriating honesty. That was a flaw, an inability to think beyond what fell from his tongue.

“Well, if you wish to adopt a frog here, you will be sorely disappointed,” Morrigan countered briskly. “Kieran has already informed me that there are none.”

Alistair scratched behind his ear. “I was thinking of something else, actually. A cat - you look like a cat person. Or a pony. He’s old enough to learn, and it’s a good skill.”

Morrigan tipped her head and considered. She _had_ given her permission for the two to talk when Alistair had asked, and despite his foolishness, she’d said nothing cruel about the man in front of her to her son. Some of that foolishness was that Ostagar was _his_ broken mirror, and it was not his fault that Eamon had refused to teach him how to be an adult. The Wardens had clearly made up the lack since.

“Very well. He may learn to ride, so long as I am able to watch.”

“Of course! Did...did you want me to ask Master Dennet for a horse for you? He said he had a lovely mare just in, but she was too delicately boned for any of the Inquisition soldiers, and too spirited for the current batch of couriers.”

“So you have already asked, have you?”

This time, Alistair didn’t redden. “Telling Kieran I was a good man is one thing. Expecting you to let me teach him to ride without you there is something else. I wanted to make sure you could, if you said yes.”

She folded her arms across her chest and considered again. She had learned to ride some years ago, even if she didn’t often. It was a useful skill, and horses had the capacity to follow directions if you knew how to speak to them - and _that_ skill, she had from the Wilds. This Alistair, she was realizing, was very different than the one who had forced himself to participate in her ritual, refusing to look at her face then or after. It was also a courtesy she hadn’t expected. This was no impulsive offer, but something more genuine.

It would not hurt, Morrigan decided, and nodded. After all, soon Alistair would be gone, and she would stay with the Inquisition only long enough to see Corypheus vanquished. She could let Kieran have this bit of bonding with a man he’d asked after.

“So...yes?”

“If I must spell it out, yes. The horsemaster seems a wise enough man, and I trust his sense.”

Alistair grinned. “Good! I mean - good. He was a good man when I was apprenticed to him, before the monastery.”

**

Two days later, after an ecstatic Kieran insisted the two of them get ready for his first riding lesson three hours early, Morrigan was less certain of its sensibility.

“Mother? Is it time?”

She smiled down at him, choosing not to notice that he was already showing the same crooked smile she’d seen on another man’s face two days earlier. “Are your lessons done, little man?”

He pushed the papers at her for her review. The books were taken from both Celene’s library and Skyhold’s, ranging across different tales of the same historical events. “Why do people make up stories when the truth is already complicated?”

“Because people want to believe they are _right,_ Kieran, even when they are not. Thus, they justify their actions by disguising their own greed while exaggerating their foe’s vices.”

“Yet it is vice that drives the world.”

Morrigan winced and hoped that was another of the odd moments he had from Urthemiel’s soul rather than a lesson of her mother’s she had accidentally encouraged. His wide handwriting was much easier to read than it had been, and she nodded approvingly where he’d corrected his words before returning to her thoughts.

“Not entirely. The Wardens were not fueled by vice but by determination. Alistair is an example of that.”

“But the other one is all anger and fear.”

Ah, yes. The Warden that wasn’t. “What have I told you about him?”

“He’s a liar and to not trust him, mother.”

She ruffled his hair. “Well, as your work is done and we are both dressed for the occasion, I believe it is time to meet the pony who is to be your tutor. Do you have what you need?”

Kieran held out the bit of bread, well-rolled in his hand to pick up the salt and sweat from his skin.

“Good.” Morrigan inspected him one more time, verifying that his boots were the older, scuffed ones, his breeches comfortable and tucked into them, and his shirt suitable for getting dirt and grass stained onto it when he inevitably fell. For his sake as well as comfort, she had worn the same: a loose shirt gathered at the wrist, breeches, and her boots.

“Can we go now?”

She held out her hand to her son so he could lead the way to the stables and the two supposed Wardens.

**

Getting there, the only Warden visible was the one with reddish hair and her son’s smile. Would he develop the same freckles dusted across his skin from the sun? Again she shook her head. “I see no mounts.”

He glanced at Kieran and then took a longer look at her. Rather than hide from it, she raised an eyebrow and returned his scrutiny. For the first time in ten years, she saw Alistair out of armor. His shoulders were as broad as they had, though he’d gotten trimmer at his waist. That must be from necessity as well as Warden peculiarities: he had eaten everything in sight the twice he’d been in Skyhold’s Great Hall, making up for months of hiding from his brethren. The breeches he’d found were sized for him now - or for how he had been when he had arrived here, half a stone lighter. He had kept his boots, however.

“Do I meet with your approval?”

Yes, not that she would admit it. “It will do. The mounts?”

“Mother,” Kieran broke in, “you said I should thank him first.”

She shook her head and let the tension between them fade as she focused on her son. _Their son,_ said a small voice, but she ignored it. Alistair was no more Kieran’s father than the man who’d provided the necessary components to her creation. “And indeed you should.”

“Thank you for offering,” he said with his quiet dignity. “Can I meet the pony now?”

“Of course, of course. Here, Master Dennet wanted you to meet them in the stables. Come on, I think your pony is first.”

She stood back as introductions were made, not even bristling when Alistair slung his arm over the narrow shoulders of her son. Said son was vibrating in excitement, almost forgetting about the bread dissolving in his pocket.

“Good, there - rub his nose, let him get a good smell of you. Master Dennet and I picked him out special - he’s taller than most ponies, and I thought that would work well. You’ve got your mother’s long legs, don’t you?”

Morrigan blinked. Just _when_ had Alistair noticed her legs? She certainly hadn’t hid them, and he was not mistaken, but…she was pulled out of her thoughts when the Warden’s voice came from much closer.

“Kieran, you and Master Dennet take your boy out to the yard and he’ll help you get saddled. I need to introduce your mother to her horse now.”

She nodded at Kieran, and he obediently followed the dark, grizzled man with the kind voice out, leading a pony that was quite happy to see the sun and feel wind across his forelock. Then she looked at Alistair. “No tricks now, and I do not need bits of apple to make myself known.”

“Of course not.” While his voice was serious, Alistair’s eyes creased at their corners. “I wouldn’t dream of insulting you like that. Whirlwind is three stalls down.”

“Who gave her such a pretentious name?” She stopped when she saw the horse, her dark mane almost hiding brown-violet orbs and the smallest of white stars. Beyond that, the blood bay’s beauty was only broken by a small white sock on her left hind. Morrigan looked her over and then walked forward easily. “So,” she murmured to the mare. “Greetings are in order.”

The mare tossed her head and then leaned forward, letting Morrigan blow in her nostrils.

“She’s from Master Dennet’s own stock,” Alistair said quietly. “He said she needed a delicate hand or she’d run off with her rider.”

With a final stroke on Whirlwind’s cheek, Morrigan turned to look at the man who fathered her son again. Whatever this dance between them and her son, she was no woman new to the world any longer. Nor was he the sheltered virgin.

“Why, Alistair? Why this, with Kieran and myself?”

“You’re too used to the Orlesian court,” was the reply. “I spent a number of years in Orlais, too, though the Order shelters us somewhat. I swear, the suggestion was exactly what I said: I _like_ Kieran and wanted to...well...be a friend to him.”

“Nothing more?” She hadn’t missed the odd hesitation at ‘was.’

“You’ve changed. He’s changed you - or I’ve changed. I - well, Whirlwind was my idea. Master Dennet offered a placid gelding, someone anyone could ride. That’s not you, though.”

Morrigan chuckled. Indeed, it seemed they both had changed, and more than the inches across his shoulders or new lines along his face. “That would have been an insult indeed.”

“I remember you in the Wilds, and how you spoke with...well, how you spoke of wandering the woods. If you couldn’t ride anything Master Dennet has, I’d eat my boots without sauce.”

“Ah, eloquent as ever.” She admitted her voice had no heat in it as she looked at Alistair. His shirt fit rather more pleasantly than she’d admit anywhere but here, with only the horses looking on and the echoes of her son’s excited voice outside punctuated by the low tones of the horsemaster. “Perhaps your idea has more merit than you realized. After all, this Whirlwind will need more exercise than a gentle lesson with my son and his first pony can manage, assuming you are amenable to something a bit more challenging.”

Alistair blinked, then lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes, though his face stayed steady otherwise. “Maybe with a picnic lunch so she can really stretch her legs. I’m sure that can be arranged.”


End file.
